


Ghost in the machine

by Kokolove



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokolove/pseuds/Kokolove
Summary: Set after series 4.  Caroline and Gillian are united in their loneliness and discover their feelings for each other run deeper than just friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

Ghost in the machine

Chapter One

I used to have the somewhat jaded belief that I had been born into the world blessed with the Midas touch. Lady luck had shone on the me from moment I came screaming from the birth canal and her golden aura hung around my shoulders like a protective bubble for the first 40 years of my life. Then one day, much to my surprise, that bubble popped spectacularly and my world momentarily stopped spinning on its axis.

There comes a moment in life when you are inextricably awoken to the truth. One morning you open your eyes and there it is: the realisation that it was all a lie. Everything you thought to be true was in fact nothing but bullshit. The happy childhood you had? Bullshit. The expensive private education? Bullshit. The enviable career? Bullshit. The loving marriage? Well, that took bullshit to a whole new level. Even the joy I once believed that my children would bring me was debatable. I loved them, undoubtedly and unconditionally, but I could not deny they were my epicentre, thus my life was often consumed by them. Selfishness was forced to be become selflessness. 

Everything was about keeping everyone else happy. From early childhood, I was unintentionally conditioned to be a people pleaser. You see, you become obsequious when your parents take no measure to hide the contempt they feel for each other, and you compensate by trying (and failing) to delight them both. But caught in their own selfish mission to out hate one another, I was, for the most part, the child who was seen and not heard.  
It was around the same time that I had taught myself to be stonily stoic in my outpouring of emotions. This was all thanks to my mother who, of course, had never been able to handle great displays of sentiment from anyone.

“Is that necessary, Caroline?” “Why are you being so dramatic?” “You get that from your father, you know.” “Everything has to be bigger than it really is with you”. “Have you thought about a career in the theatre?” She would fire out rhetorical questions like bullets from Tommy guns, in her whiny, passive aggressive tone, only to be passivated by my monosyllabic appeasements. 

Somewhat ironically, now, as an adult, she scolds me for being cold and unemotional, like it's not her fault.

“Well, you could show a bit more compassion, Caroline. Did I give birth to a robot?” Is her favourite line when I don’t respond accordingly to whatever nonsense has upset her at that particular moment. I think she’s trying to incite guilt in me, but I don’t let her see that she’s having an effect. It would only please her, I’m sure. My father was no saint, but forty years living with my Mother was his karma.

 

The shrill noise of the telephone ringing in the distance pulled Caroline from the self-deprecating musings; musings that she found herself now partaking in daily. Sitting at her desk in her claustrophobia-inducing office, she found herself with much more time on her hands than she ever did at Sulgrave Heath. Her primary duty now was signing the suspension and exclusion letter's being sent out to parent's who would not care a jot about the delinquency of their delightful offspring.

“Caroline Mackenzie-Dawson?” She answered, her voice flat yet authoritative.

“Hey, Cazza, it’s Gillian!” The broad Yorkshire accent bellowed down the receiver. 

No shit, Sherlock. 

Like it could have been anyone else. Her step-sister was the only person brave (or foolish) enough to give her the crass, council-estate nickname. She never corrected her on it, though, for deep down she secretly liked it. She had never been given a nickname before, well, not one she wished repeated. It was like being part of a secret club she had been excluded from in school, that as an adult she would quietly embrace. Even although she knew Gillian was doing it to annoy her.

“Gillian, what can I do for you?” She tapped her pen against the desk, listening to the wind whistling annoyingly down the phone, like natures tinnitus. Gillian must have been outside on the farm, tinkering with a tractor, or God forbid, one of her beloved sheep.

“I was just wondering if you fancied popping over after work? With Flora? I have Calamity here, Raff is leaving for work shortly and I’m on babysitting duty. She gets bored when it’s just me here, so I thought, maybe, you could both come here and they could play together, you know, and we can have a drink. Well, obviously, you’ll be driving, so it’ll need to be coffee, but, erm, yeah…what do think?” She paced around on the same patch of grass nervously, wondering why the hell this woman could make her feel so on edge. As she listened to the awkward silence at the other end she almost wished she had listened to her gut instinct and hadn’t bothered calling. 

“Flora is with Gregg this week.” Was all Caroline could muster in way of response. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s okay, it was just a thought anyway.” Gillian shrugged, pretending to no one but herself that the rebuff didn’t sting.

“Yeah…” 

“Unless, you want to come and save me from boredom…you could come play with me.” The second the words left her mouth, her heart sank into her stomach and she slapped her hand against her forehead a few times, potentially in the hope she’d give herself a lobotomy. Fucking idiot! You just can’t stop yourself from looking like a twat! “Sorry, that sounded so wrong. I didn’t’ mean that to sound quite so suggestive. I know you think I’m a slapper but I draw the line at family…”   
Caroline couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips. She wasn’t being cruel, but on some level she thought it was sweet, that somehow Gillian would always manage to fluster herself during a conversation. Talking wasn't the small brunette's strong point.

“For Christ sake, say something Caroline, tell me I’m a twat, whatever, but just say something…”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll come over when I finish up here. I’ll try to leave before four to beat the traffic.”

“You will? Oh, okay.” Gillian couldn't hide the surprise in her voice.

“What? Don’t you want me to come over now? I wish you’d make your mind up Gillian.”

“No, shit, yes…I mean, yes, come over, I’m just amazed you agreed. That’s all” Gillian ran her hand through her hair. She was messing this up. 

“Why wouldn’t I agree?” Caroline furrowed her brow, perplexed at this grey area Gillian was creating. She liked things in black or white.

“No reason in particular, I guess, It's just it's Friday night and I assumed you’re too busy to come and listen to me get pissed and whittle on like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Caroline answered quickly, a seriousness to her tone. She hated how easily Gillian could belittle herself. Self-esteem wasn't one of her strong points either.

“No?” They both fell silent. “I feel like one sometimes.” She whispered, sadly.

“Well, you’re not.” Caroline answered affectionately. “You’re a pain in the arse, and you drive me and everyone else up the bloody wall, frequently, but you’re not stupid. You’re just….” She paused to find the perfect word. “Flaky. You’re a little bit erratic and flighty, but it’s actually quite endearing. Sometimes.” She mused as she thought about all the times Gillian had managed to bring her to the point of exasperation. No one could make her internally roll her eyes like Gillian could, except perhaps John, but there was nothing endearing about him. At least Gillian had an almost childlike innocence about her that Caroline couldn’t help but embrace. More than once over the years, she had wanted to bundle the small farmer up in her arms and make everything better for her, but good old cold-hearted Caroline couldn’t quite muster the guts to throw herself over that emotional precipice. 

“I’m going to try to take that as a compliment, albeit an extremely backhanded one, and I’ll see you when you get here.” Gillian tried not to let the coquettish smile on her lips extend to her voice. There was something electrifying to her about the back and forth banter that often oozed with subtle shades of what she read as sexual tension. She shook her head to clear her head of the illicit thoughts that were beginning to creep in and terminated the call. For as much as they thrilled her, they scared in equal measure. Women…especially Caroline-shaped women, were way out of her comfort zone. Men she could lure in to the palm of her hand. She could handle men and play them like a fine fiddle. But the female of the species; that was territory she did not think she could manage. She wouldn’t be dipping her toe in the Sapphic pool any time soon, and most definitely not with her step-sister!

*

When Caroline pulled onto the mucky gravel driveway of the farm, the sun had begun to cool across the Yorkshire Dales behind her. It was a beautiful summer evening; one that you could only truly appreciate out in the country, with its silent, all-consuming beauty.

She had always considered hersef a big city girl. With the bright lights, rumbustious noises and sensory overloads that satisfied her need to feel like she was living. The country had none of the culture that kept the blood pumping in her veins. Yet, the more time she spent at Gillian's farm, the more she came to appreciate the silence and the feeling that nothing had to be done in a hurry. 

Tip-toeing in her expensive stiletto's through the hardened mud to the front door, Caroline fumbled with her car keys, and tried to keep the several bags on her shoulder from slipping off. If her vocation of teaching didn’t work out, juggling would have been a fabulous profession for her. Her life was already a circus and she was most definitely not the ring-leader keeping it all together.

“Gillian, I'm here,” She gave the ajar door a quick chap and let herself in with a cacophonous announcement.

“Shhh, Calamity's having a nap.” Gillian pressed her index finger to her mouth. “She got bored waiting on her Auntie Caz.” 

“Sorry, sorry...traffic was horrible on the way out of Harrogate. It's Friday night, everyone wants home early and I don't blame them.” She dropped her bags on the tiled floor and sighed with relief at being unburdened with their hefty weight. 

“Planning on staying the weekend?” Gillian nodded at the dumped pile next to the dining table.

“What? No. That's just the crap I need to carry with me every day in order to do my job. Why I can't just have a bloody stationary computer and a bookshelf, I don't know. Everything must be portable these days, or god forbid, the world will combust. “Hotdesking” is what they call it. It's bollocks. Is that bottle of red wine open?” She didn't pause for breath as she took the cork from the bottle and poured herself a generous amount, which she glugged half way down the glass before she sat and took a deep inhalation of oxygen and relief.

“Better?”

“Much! But I might need to take you up on that offer of sleeping on the couch, after all. And a holiday in the Maldives wouldn't go amiss, either.”

“It's funny you should mention that,” Gillian nervously pulled up a dining chair next to her step-sister and fiddled with her messy ponytail.

“Is it?” 

“Well, yes, that's one of the things I wanted to have a word with you about tonight.” She twiddled a strand of hair around the index finger of her right hand and with the left she scrapped off a bit of unwanted breakfast off of the table. “Dad and Celia have booked that Med cruise for the summer, and Raff and Ellie are taking Calam up to Blackpool for a week, and well, I'm at a loose end.”

“Yes?” Caroline squinted her eyes, trying to make head or tail of where this was headed. In typical Gillian style she had to go around the houses to make her point obvious.

“Yes, well, I hate being in this bloody house on my own, with just me and crazy Gillian who lives in my head, talks shite and leads me, for the most part, down a very drunken and debaucherous path.”

“So?” 

“So, I was thinking about taking a small trip somewhere and wondered if you would maybe like to come. I know you have eight weeks off and Greg has Flora. But you don't have to. Don't feel obligated just because I'm a sad, pathetic singleton who can't keep a man.” Gillian rambled, avoiding eye contact with Caroline whose intense gaze would overwhelm her further.

“To the Maldives?” Caroline's eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

“No, well, I was thinking more along the lines of camping in Cornwall.”

“No, forget it. Sorry. Camping isn't my thing. The Caribbean I can do, but Pontin's, no. Sorry.” 

“Glamping then? I'll book one of those fancy yurts or a gypsy caravan.” Gillian countered, trying to make the holiday sound more palatable, but failed miserably. If anything she was making it worse.

“Glamping is a made up word to attract the brainless, starbucks-drinking, beard-growing hipsters living in London. I tick none of those boxes. So unless the yurt has a plug for my coffee machine and my hair dryer, then you're on your own, I'm afraid.”

“Fine,” Gillian puffed out her cheeks like a petulant child. “I was just a suggestion. I thought you might enjoy it. Your Mum mentioned the other week that you were in the Girl Guides.”

“Yes, I was, actually, but whilst they were sitting around a dirty campfire singing Kumbaya and toasting marshmallows, I was tucked up warmly at home studying for my 11+ exams. The other girl's now work behind a bar or are behind bars in prison. You can draw your own conclusions from that, if you will.” Gillian laughed scornfully at the utter arrogance she was hearing.

“You're fff...unbelievable. That poker is so far lodged up your arse that you'll need a Tonsillectomy to remove it! Getting back to nature might drag you kicking and screaming in to the real world...you know that working-class world the rest of us are forced to live in.” With her face beginning to flush in annoyance, Gillian bit down on her fingers nails to take out her frustration. “I would have killed to be a Girl Guide, you selfish mare, but my parents couldn't afford it! Christ, we could hardly afford sweets. They were a luxury. And the Maldives? Unobtainable!” Gillian was off and up from her chair, pacing as she preached.

“Okay, okay, okay! Point well and truly received, you can stop with the pontificating. If me making an arse of myself in a polyester igloo is what will make you happy and shut you up, i'll go. But under the conditions that it's not Butlins, that it's for no more than a long weekend, if it turns in to Carry On Camping, i'm going home early and I will not be subjected to partake in karaoke or sit through tribute acts. Am I understood?” While Caroline remained stony-faced, Gillian beamed like a Cheshire cat.

“Loud and clear! Oh, Caroline, thank you. You won't regret it. I promise you'll love it. I'll make it worth your while.”


	2. Midsummers night nightmare

NB. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment and add kudos! It's been a wonderful boost of confidence for someone who hasn't written anything of substance for a very long time. I couldn't resist popping my head out from Hermitsville to write for LTiH, though. The stories for the Caroline/Gillian pairing are just too few and far between, although i have to say, the one's here are incredible! Let's hope a few more spring up in the near future, or even better, Sally Wainwright takes notice for series 5. (A girl can dream.)

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

There were days when Gillian would sit alone on the farm and fantasize about giving it all up and running off into the sunset, to somewhere where no one could find her and make any more demands of her. Somewhere where there were no demonic memories in every room; flashes of being abused in the most horrific of ways. She longed for a home that had no ghosts lurking in each dark corner, haunting her every waking thought. No Eddie. No judgement. No heartache and no misery.

When her bones ached, or the skin on her tired fingers cracked and bled from overuse. When the heavens opened and the rain turned the ground around her into marshland as she fought to work around it. When she sat in her dilapidated Land Rover and cried because she felt redundant and invisible in her own home. The days of wondering if it was all worth it used to be few and far between but lately they were becoming a constant nagging thought at the back of her head. The thought had even occurred to her to torch the place and put in an insurance claim, but for the most part, that had been the cheap Burgundy talking. She was tired. Tired of doing everything on her own. Tired of being alone. Tired of seeing everyone around her find the happiness and love she so badly wanted yet never had the fortune to properly experience. It wasn't that life had exactly dealt her a bad hand of cards, but she had been a ruthless player who never could figure out when to stop upping the ante. Any misfortune she had experienced had been of her own doing. Her life was what it was all because of her own bad choices. When her father gave her sound advice, she'd usually do the opposite, not to spite him, but because she knew better. And hence her teenage years spiraled out of her control and led her to the sorry state she was in now. She would have loved to have blamed the last thirty-odd years all on a run of bad luck, but she didn't believe in such nonsense. Luck was hocus pocus, up there with karma, serendipity and soul-mates.

 

Sitting alone and in the deafening silence of her kitchen waiting on Caroline's arrival, she took one last sip from her coffee mug and threw it in the sink to deal with when she got back.

 

_Bugger sitting in here._ She grabbed her small backpack and handbag and locked the door behind her, just in time to see the shiny, black Jeep Cherokee pull into the drive.

 

“Perfect timing.” She shouted loudly with her thumbs up to signal her pleasure. “My arse was making buttons waiting on you.”

 

“Do you want a hand with you luggage?” Caroline stepped down from the car wearing what would be deemed casual for her. A pair of figure-hugging jeans, white blouse and a pair of trusty stilettos.

 

“How can you drive in those things!” Gillian shook her head as she slung her things on the back seat. “Don't need a hand, ta, this is all I'm bringing.” She eyed the large suitcase in the back of the car and the smaller bags surrounding it. Her and Robbie hadn't taken that much luggage between them on their two-week honeymoon to Spain. She rolled her eyes like she was surprised at the sight, but really it's what she had expected.

 

“Travelling light? You do have clothes in there? This isn't some kind of weird, Buddhist, naturist thing you've booked, is it? Oh God, I knew this would be a disaster.” Caroline ran her hands through her blonde hair like she was in deep despair.

 

“Chill out, you neurotic bitch. Everyone will be fully clothed where we're going, me included, I just don't have to travel like I'm Paris bloody Hilton.” She buckled her seat belt and muttered under her breath. _Like some._

 

“Okay,” Caroline sighed, defeated. “Let's get this show on the road.”

 

 

*****

 

Six hours in a car driving down the M1 to Cornwall, with Gillian singing along to every song that came on Radio4 was Caroline's idea of hell. Japanese water torture would have been more favourable. Several times she had stealthily watched her from the corner of her eye, bopping about in her seat like she was one of _Pan's People_. The woman couldn't remember her own phone number yet, someone, by way of a small miracle, she could remember the lyrics to every song from the 70's.

 

“Right, Donna Summer, we're here. Thank God!” Caroline turned off the car engine, cutting off John Humphrys discussing the delights of Abba.

 

 

“Wow, look at this place, it's like a fairytale.” Gillian gushed in awe at her surroundings and Caroline could not deny the place was beautiful. She nodded in agreement as they silently spilled out in to the car park to stare up at the night sky. It may have been just after midnight but the clifftop view was spectacular. The moon cast its glow onto the calm waters below and the crashing of the waves were almost meditatively melodic to their ears. “See, I told you i'd find somewhere nice.

 

The campsite was nothing like Caroline had imagined it to be. It was less of the Hi-de-hi and hoi polloi she was dreading and instead was more of the haute monde she was accustomed to. Internally she scolded herself for being the toffy-nosed, “posh bitch” that Gillian often chided her about. She knew her tastes and needs were on the opulent side of extravagant but like every other one of her negative personality traits, it was her mother's fault.

 

“So, where are we staying?” Caroline eyed the palatial mini-cottages on the decent towards the tents in the near distance but didn't feel all too hopeful that that would be their abode for the next three days.

 

The walk took only a few minutes and with each passing one, Caroline's fears were answered. Past the cottages and the tents, beyond that caravan's and the yurts, stood their temporary dwelling.

 

“Gillian, you do know that's not a yurt; it's a teepee?” She whispered angrily, trying to keep her tone sotto voce, lest she wake anyone in the  neighbouring “reservation”.

 

“Aye, and? It's practically the same thing.”

 

“ I thought we were going to Cornwall, not New Mexico. If I had known, I'd have packed a couple of buffalo and some powwow drums.”

 

“You're a funny bastard, aren't you?” Gillian backhanded her across the arm, painfully, judging by the squeal of protest. “If you remember, I booked at late notice, all of the yurts and chalet's were gone.”

 

“I can see why, Pocahontas.” She pulled back the flap of fabric across the doorway to have a peak in. Not that there was much to see with no light. “Does it have heating?” She asked, hopefully.

 

“It has a firepit, but we'll need to take it in turns through the night to keep it lit. Anyway, it's July, how much heating do you need?”

 

“Bloody marvellous.” Caroline dumped her suitcase next to her as she took a tumble over what felt like a enough scatter cushions to kit out an Ikea showroom. “And am I to assume that there's also no lighting?”

 

“The Native American's used the stars to guide them.” Ever the pragmatist, Gillian was already half-way out of her clothes and was rummaging around clumsily in her backpack for her night clothes. Her jeans were down round her ankles and her hoodie has discarded onto a pile on the floor. Next went the boots, which were tossed aside like trash.

 

“Okay then. Lets look on the bright side. At least I wont have to worry about anyone seeing me naked when I'm changing into my pyjama's.” Primly, she began to follow Gillian's lead and started to unbutton her blouse.

 

“Only me. I can see really well in the dark. It comes from years of living in the country, with all the power outages we have. You learn really quickly to use your hands to get around.” Gillian yanked at her jeans and hopped around on one foot as she pulled them from her legs with no ounce of grace.

 

“Just keep your hands to yourself, thank you.” Caroline watched her friend dance around the room, with all the decorum of a little Yorkshire Leprechaun. But despite this and the not so attractive underwear she was prancing around in, Caroline couldn't help but stop what she was doing and stare in admiration. Gillian was a mere silhouette in the shadows, but there was no denying that she had a subtle beauty. Like Diana, goddess of all that was nature, who could charm the animals as she hunted by moonlight. Or was she more like Dionysus, god of wine, ecstasy and frivolity; a force to be reckoned with. A weird dichotomy of the masculine and feminine, she oozed a “je ne sais quoi” that defied her plain outer exterior and left all in her wake dazzled by her silent Siren's call.

 

“What?” Gillian's abrupt question broke Caroline from her reverie. “Why are you staring at me like that?” She furrowed her brow suspiciously.

 

“I'm not, I'm just dead on my feet. I'm in a trance of exhaustion. I'm sorry if you thought I was staring,” She blushed from her toes to her cheeks and finally thanked the Native's for their lack of illumination.

 

She slid into her white cotton pyjama's and grabbed the sleeping bag that Gillian had roughly tossed her way, though quite what she was doing with it, she didn't know.

 

“Over here, Mr Magoo, there's futon's on the floor.” Caroline followed the voice and tucked herself into the thin mattress.

 

“Japanese Futon's? It's authentic American Indian then?” She scoffed truculently in her discomfort.

 

“Stop whinging, you'll appreciate the teepee in the morning when it's light. I won't start the fire tonight, primarily because I can't be arsed, so if you get too cold, scooch up and snuggle in. Ni' night.” Gillian drawled sleepily as she turned to her side and drifted off into almost immediate slumber. Whilst Caroline lay frigid next to her in the dark, looking up to the conical ceiling. _Snuggle in._ She covered her eyes with her hands and let out an internal primal scream. The next few days would be torture if she couldn't keep her hormones in check. But resisting the Siren's call from the winged maiden beside her would prove to be her downfall.

 

 

The sound of thunder and the lashing of rain against the sewn together buffalo hides were the 8am alarm call neither of them asked for. They both groaned in perfect unison as the heavens battered down above them and the flash of lightening illuminated the single room.

 

“Urgh, piss off!” Gillian groaned as she stirred from what had been one of the most restful sleeps she had had in a long time. She rubbed her eyes and ignored the chirpy _Good Morning_ Caroline wished her. “I can't believe it's bloody raining. The MET office said it would be the hottest week of the year, that's why I booked it! W...wankers. I've got a good mind to put in a compensation claim.” Gillian got up and grabbed the hoodie she had been wearing yesterday and a freshly washed one from her bag. “Here,” She threw it towards the Blonde. “I packed this for you. I knew you'd bring nothing remotely practical with you.”

 

“Thank you,” Caroline rolled her eyes as she slid it over her shoulders. It was a size too small but wore it regardless to keep the fresh morning chill from her bones. “You know, I don't care about the rain. I'm actually quite pleased that the weather's bad, in a way. It means we don't have to do anything, we can get to relax and recharge our batteries. God knows, I think we need it after the shit eighteen months we've both had.”

 

“I don't think I know how to relax.” Gillian paced up and down, unconsciously emphasising her point. “I can't remember the last time I sat on my arse and had someone wait on me hand and foot. Robbie tried to take the pressure off me but I'm too much of a control freak to have allowed it.” She grabbed the matches by the fire and lit the kindling in the pit until the flames flickered in angry, warm bursts.

 

“You a control freak? Never.” Caroline squealed in delight as one of the Peruvian cushions she had tripped over the night before battered her over the head via Gillian.

 

“You deserved that.” Caroline nodded and held up her hands in defeat and felt the warmth bring her frozen, dead nerve endings back to life.

 

“Do you miss having Robbie around?” Caroline questioned as she drew herself closer to the flames.

 

“Nah. I thought I would, but it was never going to work, us two. I was stupidly holding onto the feeling of nostalgia I had from when we were fifteen year old kids, but thirty years have passed and I was kidding myself that nothing had changed in that time when everything had changed. We had changed. We weren't those innocent teenagers having a quick hormonal fumble in the park bandstand. We're adults. Well, he is. I don't think I'll ever grow up. And I don't know if I'll ever be capable of true love, either.”

 

“My mum said something to me when I was about sixteen. She said, marry a man who loves you more than you love him. That way he'll never hurt you. I obviously never listened because I married John...” She lay back on the rugs to enjoy the heat from the fire in the middle of the room.

 

“But?” Gillian followed suit and lay across from her so they were facing each other.

 

“I hate saying this. I shouldn't...”

 

“Go ahead. It can't be any worse than what I've told you over the years.” Caroline shot her a look that said there was obviously no closet or skeleton big enough to top her secrets.

 

“I adored Kate. I loved her, I really, truly did and I wanted us to spend the rest of our lives together. So, please don't misconstrue what I'm about to say.” Gillian nodded in agreement that she wouldn't judge. “But, I don't think I loved her the way she loved me. I loved the idea of her – of us - but I don't think I was ever deeply in love with her. At least, not in the way she deserved.” Gillian didn't look too surprised at the revelation, which astonished Caroline. “Why aren't you saying anything?”

 

“Because honestly, Caz, I'm not that shocked. I think, on some level, we could all see it, your mum, my dad, the boys...we just never said nowt. Listen, you were happy and that's all that really matters. You made Kate's last few months perfect. She had the wife she wanted, a beautiful house, good job and she was having the baby she always longed for. How much or how little you loved her makes no difference. Not now, at least.”

 

“You talk sense sometimes, do you know that?”

 

“Yeah, well, I'm sober. So don't get your hopes up for anything philosophical after wine o'clock. Psychobabble will turn to, well, just babble really.” Gillian yawned and closed her eyes to rest them. Any thoughts of dozing off again were dashed when a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Caroline annoying resumed the conversation.

 

“Can I just ask, while I remember, because I've always wondered. Where did you come up with a name like Raphael? I'm not judging, before you bite my head off, it just doesn't seem your style. It's more Hebbden Bridge than Rippendon - no offence.” Caroline screwed up her face knowing the disclaimer wouldn't make the comment more palatable to the brunette who took offence to most things she said.

 

“Well I wasn't a fan of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, if that's what you're getting at, snooty mare.” The both laughed before Gillian grew worryingly solemn again. “No, a few days after I had the, you know, the abortion, well, the school art department had an excursion to the National Portrait Gallery in London. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home and wallow in my own self-pity but my Mum insisted it would be good for me.” She snorted with derision. “Like a few dusty drawings were going to mend my broken heart.” A single tear formed in the duct of her eye, threatening to cascade down her cheek, but she didn't bother to brush it away. Caroline had seen her cry more times than she could count and once more wouldn't make a blind bit of difference.

 

“The abortion wasn't your choice then?” Caroline asked, softly, aware that she could very well be picking at an old scab that had never quite healed itself.

 

“I pretend to myself for a long time that it was my choice; that it was what I wanted in the grand scheme of things, but now i don't know so much. I was terrified, how could I not be, I had only just turned fifteen. But if I had felt a bit more supported, I'd have kept it....maybe. My mum was adamant that wasn't happening. She wanted me to excel in life and better myself. Look how that turned out!” Gillian shook her head mournfully. She had had so many hopes and dreams growing up, all of which had been dashed, one after the other. “Anyway, at the gallery, there was this painting, The Madonna of the Pinks, it was called. I could have stopped time to stare at it forever, it was so beautiful.” A vacant smile spread across her cheeks as she reminisced. “It was a portrait of the Virgin Mary and Son, I think. She looked so cherubic; baby-faced; so young...much younger than I was, and she was apparently allowed to keep her child, and I wasn't."Her last words were punctured with anger. "C'est la fucking vie.” She shrugged her shoulder's like she didn't have a care in the world but her pained face told the truth. “It was painted by Raphael and I told myself at that moment that if I was lucky enough to have another baby, that's what I would call him. Stupid, I know.”

“No. That's very sweet. I like his name even better now that I know the meaning behind it. It's absolutely perfect.”

“Eddie wanted him to be named Edward Junior, after himself. Egotistical bastard.” She spat out in temper. If that walls hadn't been made of fabric, she would have rammed her fist into it. When ever she had to utter her ex-husbands name, a deep burning hatred grew in her that she didn't know she was capable of. The same hatred she felt the night she finally snapped and rid them both of their misery. “When I got back from registering the birth, I got a broken eye socket and a couple of fractured ribs for defying him. He was incensed. His eye's...they scared me because I could see in them that he meant business. He had already shown signs of being aggressive, but that day, he was worse than I had ever seen him. In fact, his temper escalated. It had always been in him, bubbling away, but once he broke the seal on his anger, there was no going back, I guess. But his intimidation worked. I never defied him again.” She grimaced sadly as Caroline softly stroked her hand. The soothing touch was like a balsam to her soul and she could feel her anger slowly dissipate. As the temper quelled, a warmth rose in its place. Their eyes locked together and something fleeting passed between them; an understanding that needed no words. It was a moment that forever bonded them in their united grief.

Caroline sat up abruptly, breaking the silence and straightened herself out. “This is getting too heavy. Let's go to the pub and have some lunch and some fun. We're on holiday!”

“I thought we agreed that were staying sober, in case I made a show of us in one of my drunken states.” Gillian jibbed playfully. She knew Caroline wasn't ever enamoured with her when she was away with the vino fairies and blabbering on her shoulder like the village idiot.

“I'll take the risk. But if you pee or vomit in you sleeping bag tonight, I'm not sharing my futon with you.” Even as she said it, Caroline knew every word was a lie. For Gillian she would have shared every single possession she owned; including her bed. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
